(Wait, how is this happening . . .?) Meanwhile, Chris Childs was out to lunch with his nephew Marcus Camby at Layali. One of the few restaurants in Providence that didn’t offer copious amounts of hookah as a precondition of entering. (Wait a minute. Hold on.) Fuck Brunson, Childs said. Fucking cunt. Do you know he took a shit in the street the other week? I’m not even lying. This isn’t a joke. Do you realize this? That the little cunt apparently told Jeff’s kid that he’d been going through some IBS bullshit. That walking to his car at 2am the other night he had to pop a squat by the JWU dorms. Right across the street from fuckin, uhhh, from the new XO. Then he shot two turds out of his asshole onto the sidewalk. Then he drove up the street to a Mexican restaurant and bought a fucking burrito.
Marcus Camby said, What. A. Fucking. Cunt. But you know what? I’ve always thought that about him. I’m not even surprised. Childs said, Of course. But even for him it’s a low-point. Shitting on the street? Yeah, hun. Can I get the, uh, yeah, let me go with the open-faced gyro? Is that good here? No, I’m sure it is. I’ll do that. With a side of sweet potato fries? Do you do those here? Either way, regular or sweet potato are fine with me. Marcus Camby began his order of fourteen falafels over rice, when Chris Childs said, Oh! And no onions? Especially if they’re red? Please?
As the waitress meandered back to the kitchen Marcus said, This is a different kind of whiskey sour, eh? Childs said, Oh, with the cream? It has like a fucking egg in it or something? Marcus said, Yeah, a cracked yolk right in the mix. You wanna taste? Childs said, No, that’s fine. You know. It’s tempting. But I think I’m good for right now. I don’t wanna mix this early. Get all inebriated and shit. But yeah. This fucking guy. Brunson. He shat right on the street. He shot two turds like Ukrainian missiles onto the cement outside of some poor kid’s dorm room! Then he goes up the street and has the audacity to get a burrito and a steak and cheese. That’s what I heard at least. No doubt with brown streaks in his little boy pants. It’s like. I thought you had IBS, bro? Do you not have IBS anymore? Is a fucking pulled pork burrito gonna be productive for your colon? Guy eats a damn burrito on his way home with shit speckles in his undies. It’s ridiculous. Fuck him. I actually almost respect him for it.
Marcus Camby said, Yeah. And I finally met his new little sidekick on Thursday. His name is like Larry Jew or something? Guy gets an assistant for what? Why? He needs help beating his meat in his doorless office all afternoon? I thought this was supposed to be a criminal organization. Childs said, No. I heard about that. His new little executive assistant butt buddy. I saw the shit on LinkedIn. Camby said, He’s gonna keep looking into my shit too. Now sipping from Marcus’s whiskey sour Childs said, Fuck that little twat. Right in his twathole. But be nice to him Marcus, you hear? Like, don’t let him realize we’re trying to fuck them in the ass. Okay? Be respectful and unassuming as much as you can be. Don’t make anything obvious. And I mean anything. He tells you that he took a shit in the street then you laugh and you say you did the same thing. That you shit in the street too. Engage in solidarity. Build a rapport with him. Because the last thing we need is Brunson attempting to preemptively lube up our cunt without us even knowing it. You know what I mean?
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